Infected But Not In
by ladydeadpool87
Summary: Rick has been acting very strangely lately, and the increased number of zombies around him are just the top of the iceberg compared to the changes he's been going through. When tragedy strikes, will Carl be able to face it with responsibility or will he be broken from it?
1. Wonder

He had to protect him, that much he knew. They were minding their own business, walking down to the terminal when all of a sudden they were jumped.

To Rick's disgust, it was the same group that took over their home they found.

Sure, it was wrong of him to take him down and leave him to turn, but what else was he to do when Michone and his child were returning from gathering supplies?

They took whatever they found and left as fast as they could. There was no time to look back because of the herd of walkers approaching from behind and the sides of them.

And now, here they were, fighting to save their lives, not from a walker-super-herd, but from four angered persons who are trying to kill him, Michone, and his son over something he had every reason to fight against. It was self defense, he felt that he was going to get killed one way or another, and in this new world it was kill or be killed if you are robbed by another person. This doesn't include the world over run with walkers.

Then, out of nowhere, it happened.

The change, it was an instant reaction to get the guy off his back and from around his neck. In turn for trying to choke him, he bit down on him, very, very, hard. He pulled off skin, pulled off every ounce of muscle that his teeth could grab. Blood pulled onto the floor, fell all over his jaw as he snarled and bit at his flesh. The man plopped to the ground, swimming in a pool of his own flesh and blood.

Rick was pissed, no doubt about that. The boiling rage was flowing in him.

He heard the cries from his son, cries for him, cries for god. Cries in general along with painful moans as Carl's face was slammed again and again into the ground. Just as the other man was about to kick him again, the rage started up all over again. The only thing he saw was red.

He picked the attacker up by his collar, biting him into the neck the same way the other guy was done. He pulled off flesh, muscles, all the way down into the bones, blood covered all over his face like someone else's sloppy make up job.

He tossed the dead man over to the side and let out an angered hiss, a loud growl, and, a muffled "whose next assholes?!" Due to his mouth dripping in blood, throbbing veins, and arteries of the victims he took down.

Carl watched, eyes wide and fearful. He had his hands lingering against the gun as he watched his father kill another in the same fashion as the first two.

The last one, the ring leader of the group that attacked them backed up against the red SUV, cowering like the tail of a rattle snake. His gun dropped instantly, whimpering with tears from the horror he just witnessed.

Carl didn't understand what was going on. His dad was behaving a lot like a walker would, but he also still had the behavior of a normal human being.

He noted the few changes that took place as his dad killed those three men around them; he felt Michone pick him up from the ground, cradling him close though he felt as if he didn't need that right now, he was just in shock. He was in pure shock.

What was going on and why? Its obvious his dad had gotten bit by a walker, that he was infected, but why wasn't he acting monster like except for when it was time to defend his loved ones, friends or group members? Was the reason they hadn't run into any walkers while on the way to the terminal because of his father?

Rick would have continued until an arrow flew out of nowhere, striking the ring leader right between his eyes. His expression was priceless as he fell over onto the ground in a dead heap.

"So that yeh wouldn't hafto take another chunk o'meat out," said a familiar voice. "Not good fer s'one whose'till got their head on 're shoulders."

Rick turned on his heal to face the archer, his face returning from paleness to normal color.

His eyes went from pale gray to the normal dark blue that they were before.

There was a moment of silence as they stared each other down.

"Daryl?" Rick asked, rubbing blood and extra flesh off his face.

Daryl nodded a greeting, "I believe some explanations need to be done so you don't end up gettin' yer head blown off."

Rick noted the shot gun Daryl was referring to. Carl looked unsure if he should use it or not.

"Its okay," Rick said, "no need to bring unwanted attention, right?"

At those words, Carl fainted into Michones arms. Too much shock overload on him, Daryl reckoned.

"What in the hell is going on here?!" Michone growled, pointing her sword between Rick's eyes, " answer me now.."

She paused, giving a flick of the sword at Rick's nose, " or I will kill you!"

"Calm down and get that thing out my face," Rick demanded, hands going up.

"I will after you tell me what the fuck just happen-"

"Okay okay okay," Daryl came out from behind them, he used his crossbow to remove the kitana away from Rick. "Lets head down to a safer place to discuss what went down t'night and don't you dare;" he shoved Michone backwards, shoving her violently at least three extra times, "kill him off or use that sword anywhere near him and Carl. Do I make myself clear?! "

"Crystal." Michone growled in-between clenched teeth, sliding her sword into her sheath at the side of her hip. "Clear."

The three were soon headed off to the nearest place to find shelter, Daryl carrying Carl over his shoulders, Rick beside them to keep any walkers off their trail, and Michone following them about 30 foot prints behind.


	2. That boy is a monster

Ch2

The trio finally found a place near the back end of the woods; Rick noted that it was in what used to be a small country town that wasn't too far away from the terminal. He was starting to not like the sound of what was being broadcasted over the terminal, but Daryl and Michone seemed deadest on going there to see what it was all about. It didn't help that Michone kept giving him the evil eye if he even moved as much as an inch from his spot. They were currently having a stare down contest with each other after Carl was put (more like thrown) onto the couch by Daryl.

"Well," Michonne folded her arms, legs crossed as they sat in the dining room table. "I'm listening. " The pause was so thick that it'd stab the nearest person in the eyes, "Explain."

"I was infected some time ago," Rick ran his fingers threw his hair, taking a deep breath and letting it all out in one big sigh.

"How come you never told anyone?" Michone asked, eyebrow tilted. "When did this even take place?"

"Back at the prison," Rick shook his head, "It wouldn't have been a good time,"

"Couldn't you have mentioned it before everyone scattered?" Demanded Michonne, leaning forward in her seat to give him a fully-concentrated threatening glare.

"Please stop doing that," Rick pleaded, "It's fine,"

"The hell it is!" Michone growled, aggravated at Rick's tactics and for always being the one who was the pacifist; he was dancing around her questioning; it was starting to piss her off. "You say that to anything. It's not fine."

"It *IS* Fine, " Rick stressed, "I haven't turned."

"But you have been behaving like one of them," Michonne pointed out. "I saw what you did to those men back there. We all did."

"What would you have done if they were beating your son into the ground?" Rick threw at her.

"Certainly not that," Michonne rolled her eyes.

While they were discussing what happened during the attack on them, Daryl just walked in with a fresh bottle of Whisky that he found in the person's pantry. He popped open the bottle, chugging down on it in one go. Michonne scoffed-it was Rick's turn to roll his eyes. "Really, Daryl?" He deadpanned, "REALLY?"

"Better than putting up with this migrane 'n listen' to 'ya'll argue over nothin," Daryl hicced, tossing the bottle aside. "Sides tha', I 'eally 'ink'e needta have a day o' two o' break time," He hiccupped again, falling down onto the main chair that was in front of the TV. He found a remote, fiddling around with it before Rick reminded him that the TV was out. He huffed, tossing the remote aside.

Wake me up later," He mumbled, passing out in the seat almost immediately.

Rick took one more look of disbelief at him, then, he glanced at Carl, who was starting to wake before moving his eyes toward Michonne. He smirked, a snort combined with a chuckle to try to ease up the tension that was there between them earlier, but to his dismay, Michonne was not amused. He was trying to redirect her attention to the passed out and heavily drunk Daryl onto the couch (who, I might add, started snoring loudly).

_ Dammit, _He thought to himself, holding his head in his hands, _let's try something else._

Rick held up his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright, I see your point." He grunted, standing up and cracking his back, he was hunched down for the whole time they were there, his back was killing him. "I shoulda told you before hand, but I didn't, I had my reasons."

"I'm sure," Michonne answered.

"So, we cool?"

"Just as long as you don't turn around to rip our flesh off, " Michonne finally let out that snicker and smirk combo that Rick was looking for earlier, "Yeah, we cool,"

"Nah," Rick smiled. "I wouldn't do that to you guys. You're my family. Hell t' anyone else who try to separate us and say so otherwise,"

Back on the couch, Carl was fully awake. He jumped when Daryl began his snoring. He sat up slowly, putting his fingers to his eyes to rub the excess sleep out of them.

Rick cursed under his breath when he realized he hadn't had cleaned the blood up off of himself yet, taking a quick leave to the restroom before his son noticed him right away. Last thing he wanted was his son to be afraid of him with all that gunk hanging off of him.

"Where's dad?" Carl asked, noticing said person was no where to be found. He looked onto the carpet, seeing the trail of blooded footprints leading themselves upstairs to the restroom. He and Michone glanced at each other for a minute, he heard the snoring, turning his head to the sound and letting out a light laugh at the sight, before heading upstairs after his dad. He remembered every last detail that happened earlier. Part of him hoped that it was a dream, but in this world anything and everything is possible.Michone didn't answer him, because she knew that he'd find out the answer on his own. The smell of fresh iron from the blood was enough to get him to find his dad.

He knocked softly, before he was finally answered with a muffled "Yes".

"You okay in there?" Carl pressed his ear against the door, it was locked.

"I'm okay,"

"So," He looked down briefly, hands on his hips, "You gonna let me in?"

There was a 'click'.

The knob turned, the rest was kicked open with his dad's foot. His dad had gauze in his mouth, and duct tape in his other hand. It was the closest thing he could find to bandaging up in the first aid kit. Carl stopped, watching his dad fix up the gauze from his knife wound and shot wound. It was thankfully a clean shot; it went straight through the shoulders.

Carl tilted an eyebrow at that. "Again?"

"Yep," Rick grunted, wrapping the gauze around his injuries. "I got shot. AGAIN." He joked, putting emphasis on the word 'again'.

Carl chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Mind telling me why you didn't tell me that you're half walker? That you got bit or scratched early on?"

"I thought that was a bad time to say anything to anyone," Rick responded, grunting again in pain as he arched his shoulder to reach the wound. "Hell, it took a lot of convincing from Darl just now to say something' if you or Michone asked."

"Were you afraid?" Carl asked slowly.

Rick scoffed. "Hell yeah, I was afraid. I thought I was gonna turn. But I fought it, I truly did. I refuse to let such a thing happen to me. If it ever does, you'd be all alone in the world. I'm sure your mother would never forgive me if that were to happen."

"I'm just glad there wasn't any need to shoot you in the head," Carl laughed half heartedly. "I sure was going to."

"pFFT," Rick snorted. There was a brief moment of silence, but it was a comfortable one. He flinched again from the burning pain of the gun shot wound.

"Here, let me help you," Carl approached his father, holding onto his wrist to keep him from moving any further. He bandaged the rest of his father up, and cleaned what he could of his other injuries with the rubbing alcohol that he found laying on the bathroom sink.

"We should probably head downstairs," Carl said, eyeing his dad carefully as he limped. "Need anymore help?"

"Nah, " Rick waved him off, "I'm good. I just hope Michone doesn't slice my head off for this."

"I won't let her," Carl reassured, following his dad down the stairs, "And after what I've seen from Darl, I'm pretty damn sure he won't, either."

Back down stairs, everything seemed to go back to normal, or as much as "normal" could be in the world where the dead had risen and were walking around eating people. The house had been somewhat quiet, and Michone avoided Rick like the plague. Rick was in the kitchen cleaning the dishes when he noticed she was trying to avoid him on purpose. He didn't understand why she wouldn't just leave the group if she hated him or distrusted him this much. It didn't make sense to him. If it were him, he'd leave the second he got the chance. Perhaps Michone felt a strong sense of responsibility with Carl?

He also noticed that she has been hanging around Carl a lot more, even though she was avoiding Rick. Even though it made him smile at the thought that Carl was being looked out for, on the inside, it also made him feel like a monster. Sometimes dark thoughts would seep into his head, but he shoved them aside each and every time it tried to drag him down.

In a world full of walkers, Carl needed him. With his mother and Judith gone, he wouldn't have anything else to hold onto of his own kin. He had Michonne and Darl, but he knows how his son could get in a situation like this. Tragedy strikes, his son collapses, too much strain or betrayl, his son gets angered and goes somewhat dark for a brief moment, closing himself off to anyone who tries to get close to him.

Right now, things were good. It was good to hear Michone mother Carl, give him the proper role model that he needs, stuff the right morals in his head, say and do the things where his father failed to do so because he was too focused on keeping him safe. It was tough trying to balance keeping children safe while focusing on morality. Was there even such a thing as morality left in people now?

Rick didn't know anymore. And he didn't care; all he cared about was the group he was with even if Michone hated his guts with a burning passion.

"Shit," Rick huffed.

"What's the matter?" Carl approached, eating a hand full of stale popcorn.

"We're running low on materials," Rick turned towards him, eyeing the stale bucket of popcorn in his hands. "You shouldn't be eating that,"

"We're low on food supply and you're telling me not to eat this?" Carl rolled his eyes, "I think my stomach can handle it. I hadn't eaten in a while anyway."

"Suit yourself." Rick shrugged. His son would be complaining about a sick stomach soon-this always happened. Rick tells him not to do something, and he did it anyway. What was with teenagers being rebels all the time? Especially now in a damned apocalypse?

"I'll go on the supply run with you, dad," Carl said.

"No, " Rick growled, "You stay here and guard the house with Michone. Me and Darl will go." He might be half walker, but he wasn't going to let that stop him from continuing his parental duties. Besides, it wasn't all bad, Carl still treated him like a dad and Darl still treated him like a brother/best friend. Just as long as he doesn't turn, everyone's happy. That's what he hopes for, and fights for every day.

Carl pouted, "But-"

"No buts. I mean it."

"fine," Carl grumbled, dropping a trail of popcorn behind him.


End file.
